Time on the island stopped being measured in office hours. Began to be measured in scars.
By the time Caelum reached his month of solitude the man who once cared about the shine of his leather shoes no longer existed. His feet were now as tough as rubber. They had to be because he was always walking on the island ground.
His hands were covered in a layer of calluses that protected him from thorns and stone. This was his life now. He had to be tough to survive. And his beard it was thick and salted it reached halfway down his chest. Caelum did not look like the man anymore.
He no longer tried to do things that needed a lot of energy. He had learned, the way, that the thing inside his body that made him special was not something to be used carelessly. It was like money you had to use it
Every time his body turned into mist he felt very tired for days. So he used it only when he had to. Like when he needed to cook fish.. When he needed to make drinkable water from saltwater.. When he had to keep warm on stormy nights.
—Day three hundred and sixty-five… he carved one mark into the stone he used as a calendar. He stared at it. According to his calculations today he turned twenty-seven. There was no celebration. No messages. No screen. Nothing. Just the sea.
The weight of a decision he could no longer postpone. The world outside still existed.. He could no longer stay still. Caelum had to do something. He had to get off the island.
The construction of his transport was not like building a ship. It was like trying to make something that would float. Caelum did not know how to build a ship.. He knew how to tie things together.
For weeks he gathered palm trunks straight as he could find. He bound them with jungle vines. He reinforced the joints with strips of cloth salvaged from the galleon that had survived the salt and time. It was not a ship. It was a floating platform, three meters two wide.
At the center he made a mast from a sturdy branch. The sail was the canvas from the wreck stitched together with plant fibers. He looked at it. —It's not pretty… —he said to himself—.. It floats. In theory.
Before leaving he went back to his shelter. He found his employee ID, partially buried in the sand. The photo had faded. The man wearing a tie looked like someone he no longer had any connection to.
He made a flame at the tip of his finger. No emotion. No fear. Just function. He threw the card into the fire. The plastic twisted. His name warped.. Disappeared. —Contract terminated.
He pushed the raft into the water. The physical effort was immense.. The real problem came next. When the sea touched his skin. The effect was immediate. The thing inside Caelum shut off. Not gradually. As if something had cut it completely.
His legs turned heavy. His vision blurred. Cold sweat ran down his back. The sea did not harm him. It just stopped him from using his thing. —Damn it… he said, dragging himself toward the raft clumsily.
As if his body had forgotten how to move. Once he climbed onto the logs away from contact with the water the thing inside him slowly returned. Unstable. Irritated. As if his own body "remembered" the restriction.
Caelum grabbed an oar and began pushing himself away from the shore. The currents of the East Blue were unpredictable. The raft creaked with every wave.. Water kept seeping between the logs splashing his legs and keeping him in a constant state of partial weakness.
Three days passed. The sun burned relentlessly. Hunger weighed on him. The sea offered no direction. The raft was slow. Unstable. Almost a floating mistake.
On the day the wind died. The ocean became still. Caelum stared at the horizon. His hands trembled. —Analyze… find a solution… he said, his voice. Exhausted.
—If theres no wind… I have to create it. He closed his eyes. Focused the thing inside his core. He did not release it toward the water. He compressed it. Then expelled it as vapor toward the sail.
The canvas inflated suddenly. The raft jerked forward. A pull. Weak.. Real. His body reacted violently to the effort. His internal temperature rose dangerously. He felt like he was going to collapse.
He did not stop. —One step… at a time… he whispered. The thing inside his body flickered faintly like a signal. Caelum collapsed onto the logs. Exhausted.
The sky turned red. He did not know where he was. He did not know if he would survive the night.. He was no longer a man waiting to be rescued. He was moving by his will.
Then he saw it. On the horizon. A silhouette. Larger. More solid. A ship. With lights. Movement. Life.. Something worse… Humans.
For the time in a long time Caelum felt something that was not just fear. It was uncertainty. The sea kept moving.. The "error" was about to collide with something far more dangerous, than solitude.